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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128745">a good kind of hurt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/keatstar/pseuds/keatstar'>keatstar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Character Swap, F/M, and eleven is john smith, he loves her a lot :'), so amy is the doctor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:54:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128745</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/keatstar/pseuds/keatstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When a 900 year old space alien saves John Smith from mundanity, he falls a little bit in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eleventh Doctor/Amy Pond</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a good kind of hurt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John Smith comes to slowly, with a dull ache in the back of his head. It seems he's somehow slept through the night despite the horrible conditions of the cell; sunlight filters through the small window high above, and he can hear the morning birds as they begin to wake. He's still sitting up, resting his back against the cinderblock wall of the jailhouse and he groans when he lifts his head up.</p><p>He abruptly falls silent when he's aware of the person standing before him. They're separated by a set of bars. Two cells right next to each other, two prisoners looking unimpressed with the other. She's standing, hand resting against the bars, lips pursed, flaming hair falling over her shoulders and a skirt short enough to make him blush. He's never seen such a woman, he thinks.</p><p>"Hey pal," she calls out, voice deadpan and he nearly jumps at the sound. "What are ya in for?" For a moment, when he's still pulling himself from sleep, he's not sure who she's talking to. But her eyes are trained on him and he realizes it could be no one else but him.</p><p>Bringing a hand up to his neck, he tries to rub the soreness out. "Bloody journalism isn't what it used to be," he finally says, a bit bitterly, and not entirely answering her question. Standing from the small bed, he wobbles over to the locked door of his cell and peers out into the empty hallway. "Apparently free speech is a crime these days," he shouts out, but there's no response. Besides the one from his new cellmate.</p><p>"Oh, I love a journalist!" she gasps. "Always the heroic sort." Her hands curl around the iron bars as she presses her pale face between them. Her eyes are bright, shining even in the dimness of the dirty cell. The woman looks too out of place, despite her ragged and tattered appearance. There appears to be a few tears in her stockings, and even her jacket hands haphazardly around her shoulders.</p><p>He takes a deep breath before his shoulders drop in defeat. "I don't feel like much of a hero behind these bars," he mutters, lightly kicking at the gate that has stolen his freedom. "What about you then?" he asks curiously. "You don't look the type to be thrown in here."</p><p>"That's because I'm not!" she exclaims, and for the first time he notices the lilt in her voice, the Scottish accent growing thicker with her frustration. Her expression grows solemn as she whispers, "The coppers don't believe me but I've been framed, my friend."</p><p>Maybe she's mad, he thinks. Her dramatics certainly make for an interesting stint in jail, and she's amusing even to an aggravated and exhausted John. But mad women always, always mean trouble. So John takes a small step back.</p><p>"For what crime?" he asks suspiciously and watches as her eyes grow wide.</p><p>"Murder."</p><p>"Blimey," he whispers and the strange woman nods knowingly. He nervously runs a hand through his hair before smoothing it back down.</p><p>"I was fairly close to catching the culprit before they interrupted," she says with a pout. Her face suddenly brightens once more as she asks, "How do you feel about vigilante crime solving, Mr. Reporter?"</p><p>"I'd say it could land you in a bit of trouble." Curse his curiosity but he can't help himself. He moves closer to wear she's pressed against the cell bars, close enough to offer his hand to her as he introduces himself, "John Smith." Her brow cocks and she slips a slender hand through to bars to grasp his in a firm shake.</p><p>"The Doctor," she tells him, a bit too smugly if he says so.</p><p>"Crime solving detective and doctor?" he says with a whistle. "I can imagine you have quite the resume." Definitely mad. Definitely and surely barking mad. He places his hand on the bar next to hers, leans against it as his body mirrors hers.</p><p>"Resume?" she parrots, sounding affronted by such a notion. "Those are far too boring." Suddenly she pulls away, hand slipping into her jacket pocket to whisk out a device of some kind. It's a slender thing, with a green light glowing at the tip, and a strange whirring noise sounds out when she aims it at the latch on her cell door. John's grip on the bars tighten.</p><p>"What are you doing?" he hisses, eyes shooting around the jail, waiting for someone to walk in at any moment and catch the woman doing... doing whatever it is she's doing. There's a soft click as the latch unlocks before the door swings open. John's jaw drops - the woman looks back and smiles.</p><p>"Busting out," she tells him with a shrug, slipping the jail-breaking-device back into her pocket. "You can't expect to get much work done from in here." First, she sticks her head out of the cell, probably looking out for lurking policemen and other loose criminals. Then, she steps a single foot out.</p><p>"Oi!" John calls out.</p><p>Her second foot follows, and finally her whole body leaves the cell. John watches her go, forlornly and jealously. "Do you happen to know the year?" she asks, as she straightens out her clothes. It's such a strange question that John only blinks in surprise. "I thought I knew but I always get it a bit wrong." She places a finger on her tongue and holds it up for just a moment. "I'm guessing... 1945? Am I close?"</p><p>"Yeah," John replies slowly. "Just. It's January."</p><p>"Oh, I am good," she gloats, and he doesn't have the heart to call her out on her sudden contradiction. He hears her steps echo off the walls and watches her retreating figure from his cell.</p><p>Ah, what the hell, he thinks.</p><p>"Doctor!" he calls out before she can get too far. "What about me?" She freezes at the question but turning to look back at him. As if she has all the time in the world, she waltzes back to where he waits at his cell door, and leans her shoulder against it. Too damn smug.</p><p>"I can't just let out every criminal I see, now can I?" she asks with a small smirk forming on her lips.</p><p>"I'm not a criminal," he grinds out. Deep breaths, he thinks to himself. So he breathes and tries a bit more calmly, "I'm a journalist." Her eyes narrow as she watches him thoughtfully, and he waits nervously for her to find what she's looking for. Just as he thinks she's prepared to turn around and walk out without him, she shrugs her shoulder.</p><p>"Fair enough," she says, whipping out that strange device once more and aiming it at his lock. Just as it had the first time, the cell unlocks. It doesn't make sense and John splutters out a laugh, wondering if he's still dreaming, wondering if he's the one whose mad but then she's pulling him along after her, hand holding his elbow, guiding him out of the long hall of cells.</p><p>He's breaking out of jail. He's breaking out of jail with a woman who's accused of murder but he has no intention of turning back.</p><p>She pulls him through a door and they walk into what appears to be a small office. It's dark, a wisp of cigarette smoke in the air. There are a few desks piled high with files, and only a single officer in the room who stands when they walk through. John doesn't recognize him but the man clearly recognizes an escaped prisoner when he sees one.</p><p>They're doomed.</p><p>He feels like he might be sick when the Doctor reaches back into her pocket. He thinks she might pull out the device again, and he wonders if it works on more than just locks, but instead she pulls out a piece of parchment.</p><p>She waves in the face of the officer, who pales at the sight. "He's with me," she says gruffly, hand still on John's arm. It's not going to work, he think with rising dread.</p><p>"Of course, ma'am," the officer says quickly, stepping aside for them to pass. The Doctor nods, pressing them forward, pass the desks and the oblivious officer, and far from confinement. John isn't sure where they are in the building, but they pass through another door and into another hall.</p><p>"What was that?" he whispers, as they scurry under flickering lights.</p><p>"Psychic paper," she tells him. "Practically a get out of jail free card."</p><p>"A what?" he yelps. He has no idea what she means or how it works, but he had seen it work with his own eyes. Whatever was on the paper was enough to allow them to walk out scot-free. "You had that the entire time, then how did you end up here?"</p><p>"Eh, complicated." They stop before a dead, and John can tell from the light shining through that this is their exit. "Alright, freedom is right through this door, you should be home free. Try not to get arrested again, John Smith," she tells him coyly, finger swiping at the tip of his now. "Let's not make this a habit." She spins, ginger hair flying, and leaves him where he stands.</p><p>John Smith looks at the door, looks at freedom calling his name, thinks of his bed waiting for him at home and the typewriter that's been left abandoned, page half written. A nice cuppa sounds good. A cuppa and a warm bed is exactly what he needs.</p><p>He urges himself to open the door and leave the jailhouse and barmy woman far behind. And he mentally curses himself when he makes the choice to turn and run after her.</p><p>"Oi!" he exclaims, catching a glimpse of her slipping through a door. "Raggedy girl!"</p><p>He hurries after her through the door, only to find himself in cramped closet. The two stand shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the blue police stored inside. It takes up most the space but John doesn't question it. It's hardly the strangest thing he's seen today. Really, it makes sense when he thinks about it. What else could he expect to find in here? Brooms, files, the usual? Of course not, not when she is concerned.</p><p>"It's Doctor," she tells him with glower and he lets out a huff of laughter.</p><p>"Doctor isn't your name any more than raggedy girl is," he says, hands on his hips. "What's your real name?"</p><p>"Wouldn't you like to know?" she says with a wink. Her attention quickly turns to her jacket pockets where her hands dig deep. "Now, where is it?" she mutters. First, out comes an apple which she tosses to John. When he catches it, he sees the smiley face carved into the green skin. It looks fresh and he's starving-- the Doctor doesn't seem to mind when he bites into it.</p><p>She's still searching for something, and out comes a bag of marbles, also pushed into John's hands. A stuffed mouse, a small camera, more strange gadgets, all of them found purchase in his arms. It's like her pockets are bigger on the inside, he slowly starts to think.</p><p>"Ah ha!" she finally cries out. She holds the key up before her eyes, eyes shining at the prize before sticking it into the police box door. John is trying not to drool around the apple clamped between his teeth, and desperately trying not to drop the miscellaneous items in his hold, he hardly notices when she disappears inside. He stares blankly at the door handle and waits. Hardly a moment passes before she reappears, head sticking through the crack of the opened door.</p><p>"What are you waiting out there for?" she asks, bawdy accent growing thick again with her aggravation. "Come on!"</p><p>It hardly seems logical to follow her into a box used to phone police when they're inside a jailhouse (that they were supposed to be escaping from). John has always prided himself on being rather bright. Unfortunately, his line of work also required an insatiable curiosity. He pushes the door open with his shoulder and follows her inside.</p><p>All of her precious things slip to the floor, along with the apple as it falls from his mouth.</p><p>"Umm," he hums, trying desperately not to panic. "Okay." It's not a police box, it was never a police box. Its--</p><p>"Yes, it's bigger on the inside," she says helpfully though it's hardly enough to describe what he's seeing. It's not big, it's enormous, cavernous, with stairs and levels and corridors. The Doctor spins around the console that sits in the middle of the room, stopping to carefully watch his reaction. "No it's not magic nor a trick. I promise there are reasonable explanations for it all and I will explain it as soon as I find the time."</p><p>He still hasn't moved, his feet planted amongst the clutter he created.</p><p>"Reasonable?" he murmurs, eyes drifting slowly around, taking in the warm orange glow, ears listening to the quiet hum of what surely belongs to an engine of some sort. It's unexplainable. "This is mad," he stutters out. "This is... it's."</p><p>"Sciency," she sighs. "Timey wimey." Her eyes narrow as she grins. "And not of this Earth."</p><p>"So, what," he says with a sharp laugh. "You're a... a--"</p><p>"I'm a space traveling alien, exactly." The Doctor sighs with relief but he still feels frozen in place. "Oh I'm sorry, I know it's a lot for you to take in," she says kindly, fiddling with buttons and levers, almost seeming shy before she grows sharp once again. "But really, it is a bit egotistical to believe that humans are the only lifeforms in the whole universe."</p><p>"An alien?" Slowly, he ventures forward to join her on the glass platform. It's beautiful. All of it. Absolutely amazing and unbelievable and beautiful. Among all the incredible components on the console, he recognizes a typewriter. It makes him smile. "You sound Scottish," he says suspiciously.</p><p>"Do I?" She sounds genuinely surprised. "That's new."</p><p>"And you were arrested for murder!" he exclaims, smacking his forehead. "I followed a murderer into a..."</p><p>"Into a time traveling space ship," she offers. "And I wasn't the murderer. You were arrested for being a journalist."</p><p>Pressing his palms against the console, he leans towards her and snipes, "Because I am a journalist."</p><p>For the first time, the Doctor is speechless. "Fair point," she finally gives with a shrug. "Forget that, yeah? And hold tight." Her hand reaches for a lever and, with one last reassuring grin, she gives it a pull.</p><p>The whole structure trembles and a wheezing tone echoes out.</p><p>"What's happening?" he yelps, attempting to maintain his balance as everything seems to shift and lurch.</p><p>"Keep up, John Smith," she says and he finds herself returning her exuberant smile. "We're going to stop a murder."</p><p>          He's not sure what he's gotten himself into. All John knows is what he had given up when he turned away from that exit door. And he knows, if given the chance, he'd never go back. Laughter bubbles up in his chest as he holds tight for the ride of his life.</p><p>...</p><p>John Smith lives a very boring life.</p><p>He wakes up at six in the morning to get ready for the day. He has breakfast and tea and, if he's not working on a huge story, he'll head down to the office. He likes his coworkers well enough but it's a long day before he finally heads home. There he finishes his assignments, maybe watches a bit of telly, and then the cycle starts again.</p><p>What John doesn't do is fly around space and time. He certainly doesn't save entire planets from doom, nor fall in love with beautiful ginger-haired aliens. That was true until it wasn't.</p><p>People like the Doctor just don't exist. Do I look like people? she's said to him once. No, not quite. She looks like a fairytale come to life, like every dream wrapped up in one being. Very old, very kind, and the very last of her kind. The first time he sees the depth of her grief, the ancient power within her, they're on the Starship UK. An entire country flying on the back of a tortured starwhale, the last of its kind, and she's prepared to kill it. It's the only way. And oh, she's furious and raging, and so tired of humans in that moment that John is afraid.</p><p>And then he releases the creature. And it continues to fly. It was a risky move, sure, but he had recognized something in it. Very old. Very kind. The very last.</p><p>It's the first of many victories. And he marvels at this brilliant woman who hops from planet to star, a doctor and a hero and an explorer of the universe. And, for some reason, she chooses to share it with him.</p><p>          . . .</p><p>It's not always a victory. Sometimes, every now and then, things go wrong.</p><p>She's tried to explain it to him, tried to explain the dangers that follow her wherever she goes and she's not a hero. She'll kill him one day, somehow, she feels it in her bones. It won't be on purpose, and she'll grieve and mourn and miss him, but he'll be gone. And she'll remain long after him. It's her eternal curse, gained from the blood staining her hands.</p><p>It's not unusual for the two of them to be backed into a corner but they always find a way out.</p><p>"We just need a diversion," she had said. Very stupid words and she regrets them as soon as she sees the look in John's eyes. "No," she tells him and he runs off into the smoke and debris, amongst the villains who won't hesitate to kill him, who could never see the beauty in him that she sees, who don't understand how precious his life has always been.</p><p>So, she loses him and she thinks she might go mad. She will tear the sky down in search of him. They will know why she's called the Oncoming Storm and creatures across the galaxy will know better than to touch a single hair on his head.</p><p>They must understand what they're risking for he stumbles back to her, somehow, someway. He reappears and she can see him stepping towards her and her hearts soar.</p><p>"There you are!" she cries out, thanking every star that hangs in the sky, every atom in the universe that has designed this moment. "I've been looking all over for—"</p><p>He topples slowly at first, still trying to keep his balance. First, one knee hits the ground, then the other. And then he's fallen onto his back, legs buckled underneath him. The Doctor's brain works far faster than a human's, it has the ability to take in an extreme amount of information at once. But this... this doesn't quite make sense to her. Seeing John fall doesn't compute. He just simply can't be hurt.</p><p>But she doesn't have to think, doesn't have to understand, her body runs towards where he lays, an instant reaction. She cradles his head in her lap, uses her sonic to study his vitals, sees them steadily dropping.</p><p>"John," she says calmly, pressing a hand to his burning forehead. His eyes are wide, wild in the face of death. "Hey, hey, listen to me, John. You're going to be fine."  Her touch seems to calm him and she knows that he hears her when he smiles sardonically.</p><p>"My raggedy Doctor," he murmurs. "Time to patch me up, eh?" A grunt escapes his lips as his body tenses up once again. The sight of him in so much pain terrifies her and she's properly, properly frightened. Because this always happens. No matter how careful she is, no matter how hard she tries, she always loses them.</p><p>She feels him trails his fingers across her cheek and she shudders at his gentle touch. It's a goodbye, she thinks. A gentle, loving, understanding goodbye. It invigorates her. Not today. They'll say goodbye one day, it's unavoidable, but not today.</p><p>. . .</p><p>She manages it. The mad bloody woman manages to save the day and when they're back in the TARDIS, she wraps a warm blanket around his shoulders and sits him in a chair in the console room. John Smith is rather pleased with himself and with her. It had been a close call, sure, but that's life with the Doctor. This is the life he's chosen.</p><p>The Doctor, whatever she's thinking in that ancient head of hers, doesn't seem so easily appeased. She's been too quiet, too absent in her thoughts and John's been around long enough to know that that's never a good thing.</p><p>"That was stupid," she finally says, just as he's thinking the silence might crush him back into stardust. But her words are just as heavy, even if they're quiet. Her voice carries eons worth of heartache and power when she tells him, "You never run off on your own."</p><p>John would say he's sorry but he isn't, not entirely. His lips press into a thin line as he tilts his head down. It never feels good to be chastised, especially by her.</p><p>"You said you needed someone to distract them," he quietly reminds her.</p><p>"Yes, someone," she agrees. "But not you. Never you, John."</p><p>"Well, I would do it again," he says stubbornly. "If it meant saving you." He wants her to know that he doesn't regret it, could never regret doing what he knows to be the right thing. Because the Doctor is something special, worth more than a dozen John Smiths, and he will never be sorry for trying to protect her. But it's the wrong thing to say. And the Doctor shakes her head in disappointment.</p><p>"You humans," she mutters. "You never listen." Punching coordinates into the computer and pushing levers down, she sets the TARDIS into motion and the machine groans as if in protest. But the Doctor is unforgiving and unapologetic and she has made her decision.</p><p>She's taking him home. It was a decision she had made as soon as she realized that John was okay, that he would make it. The relief was bliss, beautiful, and enough to make her realize that she never wanted to feel such a thing again. Because such relief only came with the terrifying fear of loss. It's better this way; she can be happy until the end of her days, knowing that John is out there living a normal, safe, human life.</p><p>"There," she says when they've landed. "You've only been gone five minutes."</p><p>"You're serious." The blanket around his shoulders is pushed off, tossed to the side even as a chill sweeps through him. "You want me to go. You're punishing me for doing the right thing."</p><p>Her expression falls and she looks incredulous, as if she can't believe he would suggest such a thing.</p><p>"This isn't a punishment," she tells him, eyes shining. "This is what I have to do. I have to let you go. I want you to go, so you can live a long life. Because you won't have that, not here, not with me."</p><p>His eyes are hard and she can see how angry he is, how hurt he is that she would let him go. He's still so young. He doesn't understand. But someday he will and she hopes then he will be able to forgive her.</p><p>"What about what I want?" he asks, tone biting and bitter.</p><p>"It doesn't matter," she tells him bluntly. "It hurts, John. It hurts a lot. But not as badly as when I saw you fall. I won't lose you, not like that." Suddenly, she cuts off and swallows thickly, looking back down at the console. It takes her a moment more before she can muster the words, "So you should go."</p><p>He watches her, closely observing how she avoids his gaze, her grim expression as she turns away from him. She really does mean it. It takes him by surprise, how easily she could let him go. And in a bout of fury, he storms away, heads towards the door and imagines himself leaving her behind, letting her wallow in her self-imposed loneliness. He wants to give her exactly what she wants, and in this imaginary world, she regrets pushing him away, even misses him.</p><p>But when he reaches the door, he finds he can't push it open. He can't even try. His hand rests limply on the handle, and the TARDIS grows silent now that his retreating footsteps don't echo off the walls.</p><p>It feels as if an eternity has passed before he slowly trudges back towards the Doctor where she still stands at the console. She leans against it, her hands holding her up, and her head is ducked, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. She looks defeated.</p><p>She allows herself to look back up at him, she can't deny herself that, and she sees new determination in his face. It makes her heart twist; of course he wouldn't make this easy.</p><p>"No," he finally says, voice quiet but bearing a tone of finality.</p><p>"Sorry?" she asks as if she hadn't quite heard him right. He can't just tell her no, she's the Doctor. Her TARDIS, her rules.</p><p>"No," he repeats, and he quickly steps forward when she turns to face him. "You don't get to push me away anymore. Not after everything we've been through."</p><p>"It's not up to you-"</p><p>"Maybe." He cradles her face in his hands and she's so surprised by the action, she only reaches to hold onto his wrists. It's looks as if she might push his hands away but her grip is tight; she's holding onto him as if he were a lifeline, as if she's terrified he might really drift away from her, out of her TARDIS and back into the real world, lost to time rather than dangerous aliens.</p><p>"Maybe I could have left after Starship UK," he continues, "or maybe before Venice. But not now. Not when I've seen your hair glow under the light of burning stars that haven't even been born yet. Not now that you've seared yourself into my heart. You've ruined any other life for me, any life without you in it." He takes a moment to breathe, and his thumbs brush against her smooth skins, clearing away the tracks of tears. "So you see," he says quietly. "I can't go back."</p><p>"Oh, damn," she whispers mournfully and they both know he's won. Or lost, really, it depends on how you look at it, but when he pulls her in, she doesn't push him away. She's old and lonely and so very, very selfish.</p><p>So she lets him stay.</p><p>They spend the evening sitting at the door as the ship drifts through space. Their legs dangle out amongst the stars and planets and he swears he can see the shape of her mapped out in the constellations. Her eyes shine brighter than the sky of diamonds.</p><p>"Actual diamonds," she quietly reminds him. "The sight is one of the most popular destinations in this part of the galaxy." He smiles then and hums, content.</p><p>Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulls her close and revels in the feeling of her sinking into him. Touching his lips to her hair, he finds himself wishing the moment could last forever. He never realized how fleeting time was until he met her. Now every moment seems shorter than the last. So he tries to enjoy every second of it.</p><p>"Hey," he whispers to her, to the stars and diamonds, and the millions of billions of years to come.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Gotcha."</p>
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